These people have learned not from books, but in the fields, in the wood, on the river bank. Their teachers have been the birds themselves, when they sang to them, the sun when it left a glow of crimson behind it at setting, the very trees, and wild herbs.

Knowledge is of no value unless you put it into practice.

When describing nature, a writer should seize upon small details, arranging them so that the reader will see an image in his mind after he closes his eyes. For instance: you will capture the truth of a moonlit night if you'll write that a gleam like starlight shone from the pieces of a broken bottle, and then the dark, plump shadow of a dog or wolf appeared. You will bring life to nature only if you don't shrink from similes that liken its activities to those of humankind."

(Letter to Alexander Chekhov, May 10, 1886)

A fiance is neither this nor that: he's left one shore, but not yet reached the other.

Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.

The University brings out all abilities, including incapability.